


Wish Upon a Star

by LuxKen27



Category: Sweet Valley High - Francine Pascal
Genre: Alternate Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-02-17 14:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2312510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxKen27/pseuds/LuxKen27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate ending to SVH #12 <i>When Love Dies</i>. Now that he has her back, he never wants to let her go…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> Further author's notes can be found [here](https://luxken27.dreamwidth.org/758915.html).
> 
>  **DISCLAIMER** : The _Sweet Valley High_ concept, storyline, and characters are © 1983 – 2003 Francine Pascal/Bantam Books/Random House. No money is being made from the creation of this material. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the 2014 Summer Mini Challenge prompt decadent.

~*~

Tricia Martin peered through the crack of the front door, her heart beginning to pound rapidly in her chest when she realized just who was standing on the other side.

“Tricia,” Steven Wakefield murmured, his eyes wide and filmy and full of aching tenderness. 

Mere inches separated him from her, but it might as well have been miles. No matter how badly she wanted to see him, she knew that she couldn’t. She couldn’t let him know her painful secret – she couldn’t put him through the same torture she herself was already enduring. She loved him too much for that.

“Steve,” she breathed, unconsciously taking a step backwards, into her house, even as she clutched at the doorknob. “You should have called first. What – what are you doing here?”

He took her retreat as an invitation, reaching out for her as he gently pushed the door aside. He touched her cheek as he graced the threshold, his caress sending a jolt of warmth slicing straight through her.

For a moment, he simply looked at her, no doubt taking in her shabby nightgown and too-large sweater, her sallow complexion and thin, stringy hair. _I never wanted you to see me this way_ , she wanted to tell him, but the words lodged in her throat. Her head grew heavy with the weight of unshed tears, and her determination to not break down in front of him was rapidly crumbling.

“Trish, baby,” he finally said, his voice heavy and full, “I know.”

She started to tremble, her lips quivering as tears crept from the corners of her eyes. “Steven,” she whispered brokenly, reaching for him. He engulfed her in his arms, pulling her close, and his warmth seeped into her, breaking through the numbness that had settled over her body from her illness – and from the drugs used to treat it.

“H-how did you know?” she asked, her words muffled against his shirt.

He brushed one hand through her hair, his fingers warm and soothing against her scalp. “Liz told me,” he replied quietly. “Tricia, why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

She looked up at him, surprised to see tears flowing down his face. It hurt her to see him in such agony, and only made her own tears fall even faster. “I wanted to save you from this,” she choked out. “I didn’t want you – to have to – _watch me die_!”

He shook his head, drawing her close again. “No, no, no,” he chided softly. “I want to be with you, Trish. You shouldn’t have to suffer through this alone.”

 _I’m not alone_ , she started to say, but she didn’t, the gravity of the sentiment hitting home. She was alone – her father was out drinking himself into a stupor, and who knew where her wayward sister was? Tricia was the backbone of her family; without her there to hold them together, they fell apart so quickly, so easily.

“I’m here,” Steven was saying as he continued to stroke her hair. “And I’m not leaving your side, now _or ever_.”

Tricia’s heart skipped a beat. Somehow, it felt selfish to want him there, with her. She remembered how it felt to watch her mother die by inches, and when she’d found out her diagnosis, she’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t put anyone through that same horrific pain.

But she _was_ alone, and she craved the comfort of another human being, someone other than her oncologist and the nurses at the hospital. And if Steven had found out about her leukemia _anyway_ , after she’d deliberately kept it from him, and had come rushing over to see her…?

Did that mean that it some sort of sign?

“I love you, Trish,” he vowed, his voice warm and full of vitality and promise. “Please – _let_ me love you, for however long we have left together.” He leaned down, finding her lips with a heated, urgent kiss.

She melted into him, closing her arms around him, clinging to him as the last of her strength seeped out of her body. She felt light-headed and dizzy and woozy, partly from the medication but also because of him, and this stark declaration of love, right when she needed to hear it the most.

“Oh, Tricia,” he sighed, bearing her weight with ease as she collapsed against him. He kissed her again as he swept her up into his arms.

She smiled hazily as she brushed the tears from his cheeks. “It’s okay,” she assured him. 

“I’m never going to leave you,” he reiterated, lowering his forehead to hers.

“I never want you to,” she admitted, a shiver of delight – and guilt – coursing down her spine when she felt his arms tighten around her in response. _Maybe I_ am _being selfish_ , she considered, _but he’s here of his own free will…and I will not turn him away_.

She hadn’t even realized that they were moving until he pushed open the door to her bedroom, maneuvering over to her bed and carefully depositing her in the tangle of sheets and blankets. He knelt beside her, stroking the side of her face in a comforting caress.

It was late afternoon, and the last dusky rays of sunshine washed over the dingy white walls. Tricia looked over at Steven, lifting her hand to brush her fingers through his hair. She felt her lips curl up into a smile as she reveled in the thickness and softness of his glossy brown locks, and in his indulgence of her. He covered her hand with his own and leaned into her touch, his eyes falling closed.

He had beautiful eyelashes, she thought, long and dark against the healthy glow of his skin. She’d never really taken the time to study them before, but she felt as if she had all the time in the world now, in the silence of her darkened bedroom.

“I wish you could stay with me,” she sighed, easing herself over on her side as she faced him.

He opened his eyes, his brow furrowing with confusion. “I _am_ staying with you,” he reminded her, concern rising in his voice. “Oh, Tricia, now that I have you again, I don’t ever want to let you go.”

She took a deep breath, concentrating on pushing aside the wooziness that churned in her stomach. “No,” she tried again, closing her hands into his hair. “I mean, _right now_. I want you to stay with me – _now_.”

His eyes widened as her implication dawned on him. “Oh,” he breathed incredulously. He swallowed hard a few times, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Oh. Wow. Um…” He flushed, looking adorably sheepish as he struggled to find his words. “I – I don’t want to hurt you, Tricia, and – ”

“Steve,” she broke in, “please – just hold me.” She shivered, curling her legs into her body and burrowing deeper into her sweater. “I’ve missed having your arms around me, so much…”

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Anything, baby,” he murmured, pushing himself up from the floor. He rounded the corner of her bedframe and sank into the mattress beside her, gathering her in his arms and hugging her to his chest.

She sighed happily, her eyes falling closed as his arms wrapped securely around her waist, his head dipping into the hollow of her shoulder. She felt the solid warmth of his chest against her back and the gentle cradle of his hips beneath hers. It was more than she’d hoped for, this feeling of strength and serenity, of warmth and security, as if his body could imbue hers with life simply by being in such close proximity.

She had no idea how long they lay there together; when she managed to open her eyes again, her room was shrouded in darkness, the moonlight filtering through her open curtains the only source of light. She became aware of Steven’s hand on her torso, sliding up and down with light, fluid strokes over her cable knit sweater. It was as electrifying as it was soothing, and she smiled, closing her eyes again, content to let him continue.

She had almost dozed off when she felt a subtle change in the movements of his hand. His fingers closed around one of the buttons of her sweater, carefully loosening it before slipping down to the next. He opened three more before sliding his hand inside, smoothing his palm over her abdomen.

She inhaled sharply, becoming acutely aware that only the thin cotton of her nightgown separated his hand from her bare skin as his fingers inched higher, brushing the underside of her breast.

“Tricia,” he whispered, his breath warm against her neck. “Oh, God, I’ve missed this.”

She exhaled slowly as he continued to caress her, finding and palming the fullness of her breast before smoothing his hand over her ribs, drawing her even closer to himself. Her skin tingled where he held her, heating rapidly beneath his touch, and she felt a faintly familiar heaviness pool in her abdomen.

When she closed her eyes again, her thoughts immediately turned to the last time they’d been so close as this – it had been a warm, sunny day at Secca Lake, and they’d taken a picnic deep into the woods near a towering waterfall. They’d lain together on the picnic blanket, staring up into the sun as it filtered through the treetops, loftily planning their future together between kisses. They’d laughed and teased and dared each other – to shirk clothing, to explore each other’s bodies, to find the other’s hidden recesses. Even with her modesty preserved, it had been such a moment of decadence that she still blushed at the memory.

She reached down, fumbling with the other buttons of her sweater, drawing one side of it away from her body. She welcomed the chill that seemed to constantly cling to her, and relished its stark contrast with the heat of his nearness. She lifted his hand, pressing a kiss against his knuckles, before settling it back over her abdomen.

She felt his knees nudging against hers, pressing them up as his hand smoothed over her side, down the line of her hip – her thigh – her calf – to clasp the hem of her nightgown. She could feel his body closing into hers, so firm and strong in comparison to her aching muscles and weakened joints. It was thoroughly pleasurable for her; she felt as though she could melt into him completely, releasing the aches and pains that had plagued her for so long.

“Can I touch you?” he whispered, his voice full of gravel.

“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes falling shut as she let herself fall backwards into infinity, secure in her confidence that he would catch her.

His hand slipped under her gown, the material pooling around his wrist as he stroked her leg, inching up the length of her shin until his hand met her knee. He eased himself away from her, slowly and gently, until she lay flat against the mattress, her arms splaying at her sides. He cupped his hand around her knee, smoothing his palm over the ball of the thin joint, his fingers curving over the side of her leg.

Tentatively, he eased her legs apart, caressing her inner thigh with long, languid strokes. She could feel the hem of her nightgown rising along with his hand, the balmy night air feeling strange against her exposed skin, but still, she didn’t open her eyes, instead concentrating on the swirls of need that curled through her chest and flowed down the length of her torso.

When he reached the apex of her thighs, he kept going, smoothing his hand over the flat, creamy expanse of her belly, lifting the hem of her nightgown higher and higher, until she felt his fingers dip into the valley between her breasts and splay out. She could feel his pulse quickening in his fingertips, and she heard the heaviness of his breathing as he touched her with both hands, cupping her breasts and giving them a light, tender squeeze.

“Oh,” she whimpered, lifting her chin slightly as simultaneous bolts of dark desire shot down her spine, igniting the pool that had settled in the cradle of her hips. Her heart began to beat a staccato rhythm against her ribs as he caressed her again, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples until they had hardened into little pearls. She was breathing through her mouth now, her throat coated and thick as her pulse raced just beneath her skin. Her head lolled to one side as he continued his gentle teasing, until she was sure that her skin would burst into flames under the prickle of electric heat that flowed from his fingertips.

He drew both of his hands over her ribcage, his touch light as he drifted down over her waist and her hips. He continued the trek down, gently parting her legs, smoothing the backs of his fingers over her inner thighs. She exhaled sharply when she felt a wave of heat radiating from her core, the fire in her belly twisting into a desperately unfamiliar ache, unlike any she’d ever felt before.

He seemed to stop then; she could hear him breathing, heavy and slow, as he lingered above her. A bead of sweat fell onto her knee, and she opened her eyes, looking up to see him staring down at her. His eyes were wide but his lips were pinched together, and he looked at turns completely aroused and terrified.

“Steve,” she said softly, “please – don’t stop.” She reached for one of his hands, frozen against her thigh, and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

He swallowed thickly, but otherwise didn’t move, as if he’d fallen into some sort of shocked stupor.

She exhaled sharply, tears welling behind her eyes, and she pushed her nightgown back down over her hips, which seemed to shake him back to reality.

“Tricia,” he murmured, as if only now realizing that she was there as well. “What are you – ?”

“Why did you stop?” she cut in brokenly, twisting away from him as tears slipped down her cheeks. She suddenly felt completely exhausted, the weight of the world crushing her slender shoulders and doing nothing to ease the frustrated ache still lodged in her core. “I didn’t want you to stop.”

“I’m sorry,” he sputtered, tumbling down beside her, one of his hands still caught between her legs. “It’s just – I’ve never – ” He stopped abruptly, working hard to clear his throat, his tone hollowing with embarrassment. “I’ve never done this before,” he confessed.

“And you think I have?” she choked out, feeling defeated and humiliated. Even after everything they’d done during that date at Secca Lake, they were sailing into uncharted territory right now.

“No – I don’t know,” he stumbled. “I guess – well, how do I know if I’m doing it right?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. She took the hand still caught between her knees and maneuvered it higher, flattening his fingers against her heated, pulsating core. 

“Oh,” she gasped, “ _this_ feels right.”

“Uh-huh,” he managed, shifting his position beside her on the bed as she eased her hips open just a bit. He gave her a tentative stroke through her panties, and she couldn’t stop the spasm of pure need that rocketed through her, arching her back and parting her legs even further.

He stroked her again and again, rubbing his hand over an ever-lengthening area as his confidence grew. She could feel his body coiling up beside her as his fingers started to move faster, his thumb slipping against her clit and drawing a deep moan from her throat. She shifted and squirmed against his hand, trying to figure out how to release the horrible, painful ache deep in her pelvis. Absently, her hands found his again, directing his movements, pushing his fingers against herself, the heel of his hand coming down hard on her clit, her panties completely soaking through when she finally fell off the cliff. Stars twinkled behind her eyelids, waves and waves of them spiraling off into infinity as she fought to catch her breath. 

Dimly, she became aware of Steven, still beside her, his breath shuttering and heavy as he yanked away from her and bolted out of her room. For the moment, she didn’t even care, riding the waves of ecstasy in the aftermath of her orgasm. She felt strong and warm and alive, her pulse still racing as her breathing finally slowed.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself lying on her side in the inky darkness of her room, a dim light from the hallway drawing her attention to her still-ajar door. Water was running in the distance, the sound strangely comforting as she curled into herself and tugged her blankets over her body. 

“Tricia?” Steven appeared in her doorway a few moments later, looking slightly disheveled as he leaned against the frame.

She reached out for him, beckoning him closer. “Stay with me,” she pleaded with a lingering sigh as she felt him clasp her hand.

“You have no idea how much I want to,” he intoned, sounding regretful, “but I’d better not. I’m sure my family is already worried about me, wondering where I am.”

She smiled weakly. “I understand,” she murmured.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. “I love you,” he said plaintively.

“I love you, too,” she echoed, before drifting off into peaceful slumber.


	2. Dedication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the 2014 Summer Mini Challenge prompt incredibly.

~*~

Tricia smiled, lifting one hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she gazed out over the Wakefields’ back yard. It was a beautiful late spring afternoon, and her boyfriend’s family was making the most of it. Jessica was drifting on a raft in the shallow end of the family pool, lazily paging through the latest _Ingénue_. Steven was swimming laps around her, while Elizabeth rested on one of the nearby yellow-and-white lounge chairs, completely engrossed in a thick novel.

Tricia herself was also occupying a lounge chair, curled up with a lightweight blanket beneath the expanse of the open patio umbrella. It was the break week of her treatment cycle, but she couldn’t be too careful – the chemo had made her horribly sensitive to sunlight, and had given her a chill that she couldn’t seem to get rid of. In spite of this, she felt like a human being again, and was thoroughly enjoying this idle afternoon. She liked Steven’s family, and how they’d more or less accepted her as one of their own.

“Hi, girls,” called a warm voice. Tricia looked up to see Mrs. Wakefield stepping out into the backyard. She was dressed in a pretty yellow wrap dress and matching heels; to Tricia’s eyes, she was breathtakingly beautiful. Seeing her, with her radiant smile, made Tricia long for her own mother, who had died far too young – almost half a lifetime ago.

The loss of Tricia’s mother had crushed her father, and had sent her sister Betsy off on a wild, dangerous path. It was the little moments, like these, that made Tricia feel the most envious of what her boyfriend’s family took for granted.

 _Steve is so lucky_ , she thought to herself. _Both of his parents are still here, and still care_. 

As if on cue, Mr. Wakefield stepped out onto the patio, looking like a handsome older version of his son. He was dressed in dark slacks and a cheerful polo shirt a few shades lighter than his wife’s dress. Together, they portrayed quite a lovely couple; there was no doubt as to where Steven or his sisters had gotten their good looks.

Mrs. Wakefield walked over to the side of the pool, brushing her hand fondly through Elizabeth’s hair before turning to Tricia. “How are you feeling today?” she asked.

“Good,” Tricia replied, sitting up in her seat. “Thank you for inviting me over, Mrs. Wakefield. I really appreciate it.”

Steven’s mother smiled. “You’re always welcome here, dear,” she said, brushing a lock of hair from Tricia’s forehead. “It’s so wonderful to see some color in your cheeks. Do you and Steve have plans for this evening?”

Tricia nodded. “We’re going out for dinner, and then maybe a movie.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth suddenly looked up from her book, swiveling around to face her mother and Tricia. “That reminds me – I ironed your dress, Tricia, and hung it on the door of my closet.”

Tricia flushed. “Thanks, Liz,” she murmured. “That was really sweet of you.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I had to iron my own dress for tonight, so it was no trouble,” she responded with a shrug. She glanced down at her watch. “Which reminds me – Todd will be here in half an hour, so I’d better get ready!” She stood up, folding her bookmark into her book before closing it.

Jessica looked up. “Did I hear you say that you ironed your dress?” she called out to her sister. “That wouldn’t happen to be your turquoise dress, by any chance…would it?”

Elizabeth’s features twisted into a wry look, but she didn’t bother to respond to her twin, instead turning on her heel and heading into the house.

“Lizzie!” Jessica called, splashing down off the raft. She scrambled out of the pool to follow her sister inside, only to be brought up short by her mother.

“Let your sister wear the dress, Jess,” she chided softly. “After all, she bought it.”

Jessica pouted. “But only after I practically forced her to,” she whined. She heaved a great, put-upon sigh. “I was really hoping to wear it for my date tonight. I’ve only waited a hundred and thirty seven _years_ for Nicholas Morrow to ask me out!” 

“I seem to recall a charge to my credit card from Bibi’s this month,” her mother intoned, “and a lavender jumpsuit somehow making it into the wash.”

Jessica’s eyes lit up. “Oh, thank you, Mom!” she cried, throwing her arms around her mother in an impulsive hug. “You’ve saved my life!”

“Glad I could help,” Mrs. Wakefield called out as Jessica sped into the house. She shook her head, a happy smile playing on her lips.

She turned back to Tricia. “Well, it looks like we all have plans for the evening,” she mused. “Steven’s dad and I are going to dinner out in the valley; Liz and Todd are off to a movie, and obviously Jess is going out as well. Will you two be okay here by yourselves for a little while?”

“Of course they will, dear,” Mr. Wakefield put in, sweeping an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “I made reservations for seven, so we should probably get going.”

Steven hoisted himself out of the pool just then, climbing out of the water and reaching for his towel. He joined his parents under the umbrella just as they were about to leave. Tricia settled back to admire him as he was updated on everyone’s plans for that evening; he was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, long and lean with an athlete’s build. Even just looking at him made her heart beat a little faster – she felt incredibly lucky to have the privilege of calling him hers.

Steven’s parents bid them farewell, walking through the back yard to the front of the house. Steven sank down beside Tricia on her lounge chair as the distant sound of doors closing and an engine roaring to life met their ears. He reached for her, curling one hand around her hip as he leaned forward. “I’m glad I finally have you all to myself,” he breathed, his lips finding hers in an inviting kiss.

Tricia giggled. “Is it really so hard to share me?” she teased, brushing her fingers through his slicked-back hair.

“Mmm, yes,” he responded, kissing her again. “I’ve hardly seen you.”

Tricia twined her arms around his neck, flattening her back against the chair as she welcomed his nearness. She’d been sequestered at the hospital for treatment for the last few weekends, the only time Steven was home from college. It was hard to be away from him, but it was the little moments, like these, that made the effort of their relationship totally worth it.

Before they could get too carried away, the two were interrupted again, this time by the twins, each poking her head out to announce that she was leaving. Jessica had taken the opportunity to show her disapproval of the couple, her happy expression clouding over when she caught the two of them kissing, but mercifully, she’d left them without further comment. It hurt Tricia’s heart to know that there was one member of the Wakefield family who continued to dislike her, even as the others had welcomed her with open arms.

She pushed aside that bit of quiet discomfort, however, when Steven helped her to her feet and led her inside. She simply adored the Wakefield house, with its sunny, spacious kitchen and cozy living room a stark contrast to the tiny, ramshackle frame house on the other side of town that she called home. She drank it all in as they wound their way through the lower level and up the stairs. Steven deposited her at Elizabeth’s door before heading down the hall to his own room.

Tricia stepped into the bright, inviting space. Elizabeth had decorated her room in cream and navy, creating a warm and calming sanctuary. Tricia took a moment to admire the view from the window as the late afternoon sun settled over the horizon, and fleetingly imagined what it must be like to come home to such a happy place each and every day. She didn’t have the strength to keep up the housework like she had before she’d gotten sick; her sister was hardly ever there, and her father had let it all lapse, all too content to sit in his den and drink himself into a stupor. It was hard to come back to a dark, dingy home after being in the hospital for days at a stretch.

Tricia shook herself from her morose thoughts as she walked over to Elizabeth’s closet, where she found her dress hanging on the front of the door. She slipped out of her shorts and shirt, folding them neatly on the bed before pulling the dress over her head. It was a simple sundress, white with pale blue stripes and a matching belt. She took a brush from her purse and carefully combed it through her hair, which was thin and fine and frizzy, thanks to the chemo. She tied it back with a pale blue ribbon, wishing she could do more with it but grateful, all the same, to still have her own hair. She stepped back into her sandals, giving herself a passing glance in the mirror above Elizabeth’s bureau before stepping out of the room.

She walked down the hall toward Steven’s bedroom, raising her hand to knock on the door. When there was no response, she leaned forward, catching the faint sound of running water. She accidentally knocked the door ajar; after a moment’s hesitation, she went in, closing the door behind herself as she gazed around the room.

Steven’s bedroom was just as bright and inviting as Elizabeth’s had been, albeit in a different way. His furniture was larger and darker than his sister’s, and the room was far more cluttered, but it felt cozy and lived in all the same. She took a step forward and caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror attached to his closet door, and found that she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her reflection.

Though well aware that she’d dropped weight over the last few months, thanks to both her illness and the chemo, she was still shocked to see just how thin she’d become. She could see the outlines of her shoulders and wrists; the slash of her collarbone across her chest was deep and obvious. Her dress hung loosely from her frame, with only the cinch of the belt at her waist giving her any sort of figure. 

She swallowed hard as she stared at herself, mesmerized by the paleness of her skin, her eyes, her lips – even her hair had lightened in color. It was as if she was seeing herself for the first time, barely able to recognize her own features anymore. It was all too overwhelming then; almost in spite of herself, she started to cry.

“Tricia?”

She squeezed her eyes shut as tears rolled down her cheeks. She was the opposite of vain; her appearance had ceased to matter at all after she’d started her treatments. Other people in her support group had struggled to deal with the changes to their bodies and the way they looked, but she’d not really given it a second thought, more intent and focused on staying alive. Not until now had she really even confronted the physical changes in her appearance, and the shock and pain was devastating in the moment.

Sobs broke in her chest when she felt Steven’s hands on her shoulders. She reached up to wipe her eyes but refused to open them, not wanting to confront the ugly reality of him, whole and healthy, with her, already starting to waste away.

“Trish,” he tried again, his tone soft and tender, “what’s wrong?”

She shook her head, turning instead to curl into him, to bury her face in his chest. He obliged her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close, stroking her hair as she continued to cry. Eventually her sobs subsided, even as the hot tears continued to trickle from her eyes.

Steven brushed his thumb over the crest of her cheek. “What happened?” he asked quietly. “And don’t say it’s nothing, because I know it’s _something_.”

She swallowed hard. “You’ll just think it’s silly,” she lamented.

“Never,” he swore, gently disengaging himself from her and tilting her chin up, obliging her to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing silly about you, Trish.”

The sight of the warmth and sincerity in his eyes only made her want to cry all over again. “I… I never really noticed how much I’ve changed,” she finally admitted, gesturing to the mirror.

Steven furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?” he mused. “You’re beautiful!”

“No, I’m not,” she murmured, shaking her head sadly.

“Yes, you are,” he insisted, turning her to face the mirror and standing behind her. “You’re _Tricia_. You’re warm and bright and loving and caring and selfless and giving – _that_ ’s what makes you beautiful.”

She stared at their reflection in the mirror, at the way she was practically a ghost compared to him, tanned and healthy. He seemed to exude life and vitality, his features bright and full of conviction; she looked dull and lifeless next to him.

“Tricia…” He tightened his hold on her shoulders as she averted her eyes, pulling her lips together between her teeth to keep them from trembling. She couldn’t bear to admit to her vanity, not even to him, and if he couldn’t see it….

“Wait a minute.” 

Tricia’s gaze flickered up as she felt Steven’s hands close around her shoulders.

“Are you saying that you’re not attractive anymore?” he continued, and she could see the realization blossoming in his expression. He leaned into her, bringing her body flush with his own as he wrapped his arms securely around her waist. “Seriously?”

She exhaled sharply, shock coursing through her when she felt his arousal warm and insistent against the base of her spine. Suddenly she became acutely aware of his relative state of undress, standing behind her clad only in a bath towel. She released a ragged breath when he leaned down to kiss her, trailing his mouth down the column of her neck and over the curve of her shoulder.

“How could you think that I’m not attracted to you?” he whispered into her skin. “I think about you all the time.” One of his hands rose to find and cup her breast through her dress as he dropped a fiery kiss onto the back of her shoulder.

“All the time?” she echoed, the muscles across her abdomen quivering beneath his roving touch.

“Day and night,” he confirmed, tightening his hold on her, lifting her up a little bit to press his hips into hers. He moaned, deep in his throat, his breath warm against her arm. “I _dream_ about this.”

She swallowed thickly, hating herself for enjoying the feelings he was stirring up inside her: recklessness and wickedness and desire. Her skin prickled deliciously, heat curling up the base of her spine, beads of sweat forming on her brow. “What else do you dream about?” she whispered, scarcely believing her own audacity.

“Mmm,” he mumbled, his hands drifting down between her thighs. “Lots of things.”

She trembled beneath him, her breath short and shallow in her chest. “Like what?”

“Like…” He eased her legs apart, giving her a long, languid stroke, and earning a needy gasp in response. 

Desire pooled low in her belly as he continued to caress her, and she could feel her strength slowly seeping from her bones. Her pulse was racing, her heart throbbing against her ribs and reverberating elsewhere, heat and need rising and cresting over her in languorous waves.

“Ohhh, Steven,” she sighed, leaning into him as her knees gave way. “You make me feel so good.”

“Good,” he replied softly, helping her over to his bed. She sank down into the feather-soft mattress, so different from her own narrow, flat bed at home and the hard, plastic-lined beds in the hospital. He eased her back, sliding kisses down the line of her throat and across the top of her chest, until she was lying perpendicular to the bed frame. His kisses continued over her clothes, his mouth trailing a straight line from breastbone to belly button, until he seemed to disappear over the side of the bed.

Dimly, she became aware of her skirt rising up around her legs, his hands warm and smooth against her skin as he pushed the light fabric into a pool around her waist. She splayed her legs apart, seeking his touch, feeling wanton as heat radiated from the very core of her being. She’d never admit it to another living soul, but sometimes, when she was cold and alone in the dark, she’d touch herself in this same way, welcoming the warmth it generated just as much as the release.

She ached for his touch now, to feel his long, strong, soothing fingers, so different from her own. When he finally caressed her again, she moaned aloud with a mixture of pleasure and relief. He’d grown in confidence over the last couple of weeks, skillfully maneuvering his hands and fingers first though the cotton barrier of her underwear – and then without it. She arched her hips when he found her clit, curling her hands over the sides of her mattress as she swallowed a cry of pleasure. Sensing he’d hit home, he zeroed in his attention there, probing the apex of her thighs as he worked to slide her panties off in the process. 

She couldn’t muffle her groan when he touched her again, rubbing his thumb directly on her clit; she bucked her hips up towards him, feeling herself growing hotter than she ever thought possible. She could feel the sweat pouring over her brow, the heat radiating off of her in waves, but she didn’t want him to stop, and could only pray that he wouldn’t.

He didn’t, sliding his fingers into the slickness beneath her curls, moving his hand with the stuttering rhythm of her hips. She could feel his breath against her skin, heavy and hard; she was panting herself, fighting the urge to squirm around, to guide his fingers in the right direction. Heaviness pooled in the cradle of her pelvis, and for a split second she forgot about her fear of his erection, some primal part of her knowing and desiring penetration. 

“Oh, God,” he moaned, “oh, Tricia, I – I _have_ to taste you.”

She only heard his cry of passion faintly, but _felt it_ immediately when he plunged his tongue inside her. She reached blindly to one side, finding a pillow to muffle her gasps and cries of pleasure, opening her legs further to grant him the access he desired. He licked and nipped and suckled without any semblance of expertise, but it didn’t matter – it all felt so good, an amazing rush of love and desire, heat and need, urgency and desperation. The knot of frustration buried deep in her belly tightened and then suddenly released, and she could feel herself soaring free, boundless and weightless and – for a moment – infinitely happy.

And then it all came crashing down on her, the starkness of reality rising to clash with the hazy pleasure of the aftermath. She felt sick to her stomach, so overheated and weak and exhausted that she couldn’t move. Tears sprang into her eyes as she lay there, and she let herself cry silently. She’d fallen head over heels in love with Steven almost from the moment that she’d met him, and had dreamed about doing such things with him at some hazy, distant point in the future, but when she was diagnosed with the same horrible illness that had stolen her mother, she’d thought such happiness was beyond her reach. She’d loved him enough to push him away, but he’d returned to her, and had given her this beautiful moment to treasure for the rest of her life. 

She wondered if it had been a mistake; she wondered if she should’ve given something in return, having undoubtedly denied him what he’d truly wanted. Even as she lay there, she could still feel the imprint of his arousal against her back; she could still feel that moment of utter, selfish abandon, of giving in to her own desires without sparing any thought for his.

She had no sense of time passing; it felt like forever before she felt Steven’s arms around her again, gathering her close as he lay on the bed beside her. “Oh, Trish,” he sighed, running his hands through her hair. “That was…” His fingers tracked into her still-falling tears. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, curling into the warmth of his embrace as she worked to calm herself down. “I love you, Steven,” she burbled, “I love you, so much…and – I don’t want to hurt you….”

She felt him stiffen beside her, his spine going ramrod straight. “Oh, God,” he mumbled, flushing a deep crimson. “You…you didn’t like it, did you?” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Trish, but I wanted – I _needed_ that connection with you – ”

“No,” she broke in, “that’s not it. Oh, Steve, I wanted it, too, but how much worse have we made it on ourselves?” she wondered aloud. “When I’m gone – ”

“Don’t talk about that, please,” he pleaded. “I’ll deal with – _that_ – when it happens. Until then…” He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. “I just want to be with you, Trish. I want to love you for the rest of your life.” He sighed, burying his nose in her hair. “And I wanted this to be a special experience for you…”

“It was,” she said softly. “It was wonderful.”

“Really?” She could hear the skepticism in his tone.

“Really.” She smiled, opening her eyes and gazing up at him adoringly.

“Then why are you crying?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but changed her mind. _He doesn’t understand_ , she realized, _at least, not yet_. She couldn’t stop herself from looking toward the future, but would it really be so bad to stay with him in the present?

She burrowed into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “It just took a lot out of me,” she finally said.

“Oh.” He was silent for a long moment. “It wasn’t – because of – ?”

“No,” she broke in, leaning up to kiss him. His lips were a strange mixture of salt and sweet; recognition of the taste bolted down her spine, straight into her pulsating core. She pulled away, running her thumb over his lower lip. “In fact, I’ve never felt more alive than I did in that moment,” she admitted with a shy smile.

He contemplated her words for a long moment. “So…there’s a chance of that happening again?” he asked curiously. “And maybe…other things?”

She nodded.

He kissed her vigorously in response, plunging his tongue into her mouth, giving her another fleeting taste of her essence. “Tricia,” he whispered against her lips, “I promise to make every day better than the last. I promise to give you all the love you deserve, in whatever way you want it. I promise – ”

She pressed a gentle finger to his lips. “Just promise me that you’ll be happy,” she implored.

“I _am_ happy,” he replied with a contented sigh, “and I always will be, as long as I have you.”

He hugged her close, missing the worry that tinged her features.


	3. Always

~*~

Warmth caressed Tricia’s cheek, rousing her to wakefulness. She opened her eyes, blinking away the drug-induced haze, her vision rapidly clearing. “Steve,” she choked out, her throat dry and scratchy. “What are you doing here?”

Steven smiled at her, lowering himself to sit beside on her the bed. “Liz told me that you’re being discharged today,” he said softly, sweeping his fingers over her brow. “I’m here to take you home.”

“Oh.” She curled her lips upward as she leaned back against her pillows, her eyes falling closed once more. She hadn’t been expecting him to pick her up, but then – she hadn’t really given much thought to how she’d be getting home from the hospital. 

It was easier not to think about it.

Last time she’d waited five hours for her father to arrive; when he finally had, his eyes were bloodshot and his gait was unsteady. It was a minor miracle that she’d been allowed to leave with him at all. She’d never felt more embarrassed by him, not even when he’d first fallen off the wagon after her mother’s passing and had taken up residence at Kelly’s.

They’d ridden home in silence that evening, and she’d ended up having to help _him_ into the house, rather than vice versa.

Maybe one of the other volunteers had relayed that story to Elizabeth, now that she was back. Tricia had been shocked to see her there, in her blue-striped candy striper uniform, especially after her frightening ordeal with that creepy orderly. But there she was, cheerful and determined to carry on as if nothing had happened. She’d taken it upon herself to entertain Tricia during her treatments after discovering that she’d been assigned to the oncology floor. Tricia was forever grateful for the company.

“How are you feeling?” Steven murmured, clasping one of her hands with both of his.

“Tired,” she admitted. Her treatments were getting longer and increasingly complex as she systematically failed line after line of therapy. No matter what the doctors tried, her cancer progressed, and it was starting to advance aggressively. Her oncologist had become concerned about her swollen glands, and had taken a biopsy of a lymph node this time. Even though she didn’t know the results of that test yet, she had a bad feeling about it.

She’d been through so much already: her body felt permanently run down; she was weak and exhausted and bruised easily; the treatments dehydrated and nauseated her, which meant she had to stay in the hospital for longer and longer stretches of time.

She’d missed so much school that she’d had to drop out, which had served a monumental blow to her will to live.

No one had said anything to her about palliative care yet, but she knew it was coming – especially if the leukemia had metastasized. Her mother’s disease had invaded her brain in the end. Would hers, too?

Steven squeezed the hand he still held, running his thumbs back and forth over her knuckles. She looked up at him, her heart aching as she took in his troubled countenance. He tried to be stoic, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t hide his anguish from her – not completely. She could see the concern clouding his eyes and lacing his features. Even his smile was sad. 

It tugged at her heart. 

She knew that she couldn’t keep her fate from him forever. He was just about all she had left in this world; yet, as much as she longed for him, she simultaneously hated to see him in such pain, knowing that she was the cause of it. _I wanted to save you from this_ , she thought mournfully, her eyes tracing his downcast expression. _Why didn’t you let me go when you had the chance?_

A wave of guilt and remorse washed through her – guilt, for selfishly holding him close even knowing the agony it was causing him, and remorse, for not being stronger in her resolve to keep him at arm’s length. All it had taken was one embrace, one stark declaration of love – and her resolve had completely crumbled. 

“I’m okay,” she felt compelled to tell him. “I promise I am.”

He nodded, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to her ghostly pale skin. “You look better,” he commented, a note of forced cheer in his tone.

“I _feel_ better,” she fibbed, pushing a pool of saliva back to coat her throat. “Especially now that you’re here.”

He held her hand against his cheek, brushing his thumb over the center of her palm. She welcomed his warm caress, and felt her heart pick up speed as he leaned down over her, his eyes falling closed as his mouth inched nearer to hers.

She turned her head at the last minute, his kiss landing on her cheek instead, and he pulled back, his features folding into a frown. Tricia opened her mouth to speak, to explain; at that exact moment, her hospital door swung open, squeaking in protest on its tired hinges, accompanied by the heavy tread of rubber-soled shoes.

“Well, Tricia,” came the pleasant, familiar voice of her chemotherapy nurse, “it looks like you’re ready to go home.” The nurse abruptly stopped, clearly surprised to see Steven hovering over her patient; she quickly busied herself with the chart clipped to the foot of the bed as Steven stood, a dark flush coating the back of his neck as he moved to look out the window.

The nurse sidestepped him with ease as she made a couple of notes on the chart; she offered Tricia a reassuring smile as she reached down to unfasten the IV and unclip the monitors that measured her heart rate and oxygen flow. She helped Tricia sit up in the bed, rubbing large, soothing circles over her back as Tricia slowly regained her equilibrium.

“Do you still have your clothes?” the nurse asked her, glancing around the room.

“Yes,” Tricia replied, rubbing her aching temples as she pointed to the tiny wardrobe situated between the window and the door to the bath. When she lifted her head to look, she noticed Steven rummaging around inside, emerging moments later with her meager belongings, including the clothes she’d been wearing when she’d arrived at the hospital four days ago.

The nurse awkwardly cleared her throat. “Young man, perhaps it’d be better if you waited outside?” she suggested politely, swinging a rather pointed look in the direction of the door.

“No,” Tricia broke in, “it’s okay. He can stay.” Her eyes met Steven’s, and she offered him a small smile, which he returned with a grateful expression.

The nurse helped Tricia to her feet and took it upon herself to stand between her patient and Steven as she fussed over the ties that held Tricia’s hospital gown closed. Steven handed Tricia her clothing, piece by piece, over the nurse’s shoulder, and even offered his own jacket when he noticed her still shivering even after slipping into her favorite cable-knit cardigan.

The orderly had arrived with the customary wheelchair by that point, and Tricia gratefully sank down into the worn leather seat, burrowing deeper into Steven’s oversized coat. She struggled to keep her eyes open as the nurse rattled on about her discharge medications, and the physician’s orders to stay hydrated and alert to any symptoms that might warrant a trip to the emergency room. It was the same spiel she’d heard what felt like thousands of times before – she practically had it memorized.

“And remember,” the nurse said, handing Tricia’s discharge papers to her, “no sexual activity for at least seventy-two hours.” She granted her a parting smile and a pat on the shoulder. “We’ll see you back in a couple of weeks, my dear. Have a good trip home.”

Tricia nodded wordlessly as the orderly wheeled her out of the room. Steven trotted along beside her, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to look at him. It had been embarrassing enough to be reminded of the restrictions on her sexual activity in front an orderly she’d probably never see again, much less the boyfriend who had no idea that such constraints even existed.

In the past, she’d been so careful about planning her treatments, always wanting that three-day window to fall in the middle of the week while he was away at school; however, this latest cycle of chemotherapy had been longer and harder than any of the previous ones. Even though she hardly felt like being intimate just yet – she had to recover her strength, not to mention her ability to feel human again – she knew that she couldn’t even kiss him until the seventy-two hours had passed.

She also knew that this was one thing she wouldn’t be able to keep from him for long.

Steven brought his car around to patient discharge, and helped her into the passenger’s seat before stowing her small travel bag in the trunk. She smiled as she leaned back, resting her cheek on the shoulder strap of the seatbelt as he buckled her into place, her eyes falling closed as he pulled out of the lot a few moments later. 

She soaked in the familiar rumble of the VW’s engine, in the smoothness of the ride and familiarity of the turns. Left, right, left, left, right and they were on her street; one final turn and he’d pulled into her driveway, easing the car to a stop. When she opened her eyes again, it was to take in the ramshackle frame of her house, the paint dingy and peeling, with no signs of life emanating from inside.

Her smile withered away, her heart growing heavy over the idea of arriving at a quiet, dark home. Her sister was barely around anymore, but where was her father? Did she even want to know? She shuddered, in spite of herself, and was slow to unbuckle her seatbelt.

Steven was quiet as he sat beside her, seemingly equally reluctant to move. He killed the engine and withdrew the keys from the ignition, turning them over and over again in his hands.

“Is anybody home?” he finally asked, slicing through the silence of the air.

“I don’t think so,” Tricia murmured in reply. She released the seatbelt and shifted in her seat, looking squarely at Steven for the first time since they’d left the hospital. “You’re welcome to come in,” she offered.

He simply nodded, still fiddling with his keys. “I guess this is going to sound terrible,” he finally said, “but I can’t figure out any other way to – well, _say it_.” 

Tricia swallowed hard. “What?” she asked, her heart starting to pound heavily in her chest. She wrapped her arms around herself as a sudden chill descended upon her.

He looked at her, his expression equal parts sheepish and guilty. “What, exactly, is this three-day limitation you’re under?” He winced. “Damn, it sounds even worse out loud.” He reached for her hand. “I swear, Trish, sex is _not_ all I care about – ”

“I know,” she broke in, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just… Well, it takes seventy-two hours for the drugs to work their way through my system… And the only way to avoid inadvertently passing them to you is to avoid – _being_ with you. We’re not even supposed to kiss.” She averted her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He tugged gently on her hands. “You don’t have to apologize,” he replied. “Like I said, it’s not all I care about, or all I want from you. I love you, and I always will.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “It’s going to be awfully hard to avoid kissing you for three whole days, though,” he added ruefully.

She eyed him carefully. “Does this mean you won’t come inside with me?”

“I’d go to the ends of the earth for you,” he reminded her, tracing his thumb over the crest of her cheek. “Of course I’ll come inside.” He glanced back at the house over his shoulder. “After all, no one should be forced to come home to a cold and empty home.”

Her features melted into a grateful expression. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He smiled, leaning up to press a whisper-light kiss to her forehead before unstrapping his seatbelt and climbing out of the car. She started to do the same, opening the passenger’s side door and swiveling around to put her feet on the ground. Steven met her there, her bag slung over his shoulder, and leaned down to help her stand up and gain her bearings.

Their trek to the house was a slow one as they picked their way through the trash-strewn yard and up the crumbling steps. Tricia unlocked the front door and took a tentative step inside, calling out for her father as she felt around for the light switch. When there was no reply, her shoulders slumped, and she gazed rather unhappily around the room. The stench of stale beer permeated the air; the cushions on the sofa were askew, and empty bottles and paper plates littered the ragged carpet.

 _I can’t deal with this_ , she thought, turning the light off and heading down the hall towards her bedroom. It looked like her father had already given up on keeping any semblance of a clean house. He was a drunk, yes, but he’d only ever been this slovenly right after her mother had died. It broke her heart to think that he’d already given up on her, too.

Steven followed her wordlessly down the hall and into her room, stowing her bag in her closet as she sank down onto her narrow, thin mattress, not even bothering to turn on the light.

“Can I bring you something?” he asked. “Do you want something to eat, or to drink?”

She shook her head. “No,” she replied, defying the doctor’s orders with a defeated sigh. “I think… I think I just want to sit here.”

Steven sank down beside her. “Why don’t we go over to my house?” he suggested, pulling her hand into his lap, running his fingers soothingly over the length of her arm. “I’m sure everyone would love to see you.”

“No, that’s okay,” she murmured. “I’m not really feeling up to crowds right now.”

“Then how about taking a drive?” he proposed. “We could ride out to Secca Lake, or even go out into the desert and sit under the stars, if you’d like.”

She shook her head again. “I don’t think so.”

“Then…” Steven gazed desperately around her tiny room, his eyes lighting up when he spotted her record player. “Dance with me.”

“What?” she burbled, looking up from her lap for the first time since sitting down.

Steven was already on his feet, searching through her modest music collection. He found the record he wanted and put it on the turntable, turning it on and lowering the needle. “Let’s dance,” he repeated, walking over to her and taking her hand.

The sweet, familiar refrain of their song filled the air. “ _‘Always,’_ ” Tricia murmured with a smile, pushing herself up and stepping into his arms. She smiled as she rested her head on his chest, allowing him to lead her around the modest dimensions of her bedroom, their hips swaying together with the rhythm of the music. His hands closed over her waist, slipping beneath her layers of outerwear and cradling the small of her back.

Even in her weakened, saddened state, she relished the feeling of their bodies so close, of leaning into him and feeling so safe and secure. Whenever she was in his arms, the rest of the world melted away, and she felt normal again – like it was okay to be happy, and serene, and fulfilled.

“I love you, Steve,” she breathed. _I love the way you make me feel_ , she amended silently, curling into him as she felt his hold tighten around her. She pressed her body into his, earning a soft moan in response.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, his breath warm on the shell of her ear as he leaned into her. One hand drifted up, clasping her shoulder and holding her close. He sighed as the song came to an end, and the next one started. “Are you _sure_ that we can’t kiss?” he murmured plaintively.

She shivered, a thrill of anticipation shimmering down her spine. “I’m sure,” she responded, brushing her cheek against his. “The chemo…. It could kill you.”

He froze, as if he was rooted to his spot on the floor. “What?” he said sharply, surprise filling his voice.

 _It’s killing me_ , she wanted to say, though she stayed her tongue. “It’s toxic, Steve,” she told him instead. “It’s killing the cancer inside me, so just imagine what it would do to someone who’s healthy. Like you.”

“Tricia…” he breathed, closing his arms around her. “Don’t talk like that. Please.”

She lifted her hands into his hair, so strong and soft and thick. “But it’s true,” she mumbled.

He shook his head. “I don’t want to think about it – not right now, not when I can still hold you like this.” The hand still at her waist slid down, cupping the fullness of her backside, and he dragged her body flush against his own. 

She inhaled sharply, her eyes flying open, her hands curling into his hair, her nails meeting his scalp. “Steven,” she whispered, clutching at him and wishing that rubbing against him like this didn’t make her feel so good.

“Oh, _God_ , Trish,” he sighed, his voice tight as he clung to her, one arm still around her shoulders, hugging her close even as he pressed his hips instinctively into hers. “What I wouldn’t give to be inside you right now…”

Heat washed through her, rising up into her chest and sinking down into her abdomen. “But – it’s not – worth – your life,” she panted, feeling her heartbeat reverberating through the entirety of her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She wanted nothing more than to climb inside him herself, to burrow into his strength and health and vitality, to feel imbued with life again. Perhaps then she would feel worthy of the intensity of his passion.

“I don’t know about that,” he muttered, burying his head in her shoulder, pressing his lips to the pulse point throbbing at the base of her neck.

“Don’t say that,” she said sharply, pushing him away and glaring daggers at him. “Where would we be if we both got sick?” She stared at him as she fought to catch her breath, her chest heaving heavily. “I know you don’t have a death wish, Steve, so don’t even go there.”

“I’m sorry, Trish,” he replied, looking like a cornered lion as he pushed his hands through his hair. “I just – I can’t _bear_ to be with you and not touch you. It’s like I’m missing half of myself, and all I want to do is gather you close and never let you go, consequences be damned!”

All of the righteous anger drained from Tricia’s body as she latched onto a single word. “Touch,” she echoed softly. “ _Touch_.” She lifted her eyes to meet Steven’s. “Touch!”

He furrowed his brow. “What?” he tried.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I can’t kiss you, but I _can_ touch you,” she told him, her voice warm and filling with excitement. She lifted a hand to his face, tracing the line of his brow, his cheek, his jaw.

His eyes searched hers for a long moment. “I don’t understand,” he murmured, confused.

“The chemo is transferred through bodily fluids,” she explained in hushed tones. “You know – blood, saliva, other… _secretions_.” She flushed. “But it’s only _my_ bodily fluids that have it, not yours.” She gave him a meaningful look as she brushed her fingers over the bridge of his nose and along the crest of his cheek. “So I can _touch_ you, and not harm you.”

Understanding blossomed across his features. “I get it,” he said, his lips curving into a wicked grin. He dutifully closed his eyes as she continued to caress his face, allowing her fingers to wander in lazy, languid patterns. “I’m putty in your hands, my love. Do with me as you wish.”

She laughed, standing up on her tiptoes to brush her fingers over the top of his head, gently tugging his hair back, delighting as it fell in soft waves over his forehead. She combed her hands through his hair again and again, reveling in its softness, until her calves began to hurt under the strain of her awkward stance. She gently lowered herself back to the floor, her hands sliding over the sides of his face and along the lines of his neck before curving over his shoulders and around the smooth, taut muscles of his arms.

Her heart steadily gained traction in her chest as she brushed her hands over the well-worn cotton of his t-shirt, tracing the lines that defined his torso first with her thumbs, and then with her fingers. She ran her palms over the solid packs of muscle that comprised his abdomen, her hands splaying out over his ribs, and she elicited a surprised chuckle as she teased her nails over his sides and the flanks of his back.

“That’s right,” she murmured with a smile, “you’re ticklish, aren’t you?”

“Vixen,” he laughed in response, clutching her hands to make her stop. He leaned into her instead, drawing her arms around his waist, and he closed his arms around her in response, pressing his chest to hers. She rested her head on his shoulder, smoothing her hands up the planes of his back.

“Mmm,” he mumbled, “that’s nice.”

She smiled, bringing her hands to his waist and tucking them under his shirt before lifting them again, sliding her fingers along the bare skin of his back. He moaned, low in his throat, and tried to reciprocate the touch, digging his hands under the layers of his jacket and her cardigan. 

“I think you’re wearing entirely too much clothing,” he informed her in a soft voice, pulling away slightly so that he could push these outer layers over her shoulders. She happily acquiesced, taking a step back and letting the jacket and sweater fall straight onto the floor. She then tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, drawing it up as far as she could before he took over, folding his arms and pulling the garment unceremoniously over his head.

She hooded her eyes and gazed at him from beneath her lashes. Even though she’d seen him shirtless countless times, it still made her blush, made her heart race a little faster, stirred butterflies in her stomach. She’d even touched him before, just like this, intimately exploring the lines of his body. She retraced her steps now, feeling the prickle of electric heat as she smoothed her fingertips over his skin. He was beautiful, with his golden tan and athlete’s build, the firm cords of muscle a stark contrast to the softness of his skin. 

She turned in a slow circle around him, her hands trailing over his torso. She followed the natural curves of his body, her fingers dipping into the small of his back and rising over his spine, eliciting another sheepish chuckle. She ached to press her mouth to his skin, to feel the velvety smoothness against her lips, but she didn’t dare tempt fate. Instead, she rested her head between his shoulder blades, curling her arms around him from behind, allowing her hands and fingers to drift and linger, to trace nonsensical patterns across his chest, his ribs, his abs. She even dared to tweak his nipples, earning a jolt of shock racing down his spine in response.

She eventually made her way back around to face him, and she swallowed hard as she lowered her gaze to rest on his belt. She felt herself flush as she contemplated her next move, her hands curved around his waist, mere inches from the buckle. The afternoon was waning away, stealing the sunlight from the room, and secretly, she was glad – maybe the darkness would mask her hesitation.

She startled when she felt his hand on her shoulder; she exhaled sharply and almost immediately regretted it. She could feel her hands growing clammy as her stomach did a nauseatingly slow somersault, her eyes still fixated on the gleaming metal of his belt.

“Do you want me – to – ?” he started to ask, but she cut him off at the pass.

“No,” she declared softly, pushing another nervous swallow past the lump in her throat. “I-I can to do it.”

His fingers curled invitingly into her shoulder; she licked her lips as she reached for his belt, slowly unbuckling it before unbuttoning his jeans and, still grasping a handful of denim, sliding the zipper down as far as it would go. She was hesitant to let go, not quite sure of what would happen, and was surprised when nothing did. His jeans still sat on his hips, instead of sliding down as hers usually did. Of course, she had narrow, boyish hips and slim toothpicks for legs, quite unlike him.

She chewed on her lip, becoming aware of the heaviness of her breath as she lingered over his pants, knowing that she was about to set foot into uncharted territory. As hesitant as she felt – fear of the unknown swiftly closing around her in a vise grip – she also felt curious, and even a little naughty. What was there to be afraid of, after all? This was as much a part of his body as his face, his arms, his chest, and his torso.

Slowly but surely, she eased his jeans over the curve of his backside, until she no longer felt any resistance, and let them fall, pooling around his ankles. He exhaled sharply as the coarse fabric slipped down his legs, and then silence blanketed the room.

Tricia couldn’t stop herself from staring. His shapely form didn’t stop at his waist, she discovered as her eyes slid down his frame; his hips were solidly built, leading her gaze down the length of his legs, long and lean from years of playing tennis. He took hold of her footboard to kick off his shoes, and suddenly she realized that he was standing before her clad only in his underwear, and her fingers were itching to touch him, anywhere and everywhere. She found it oddly amusing that his boxers were patterned, a tight waffle weave of black and white. The contrast to the golden color of his skin was striking; he almost seemed to glow in the dusky evening light that permeated her room.

“Maybe we should sit,” she suggested, her eyes still lingering on his underwear. 

“Okay,” he agreed, clasping her hands and letting her pull him in the direction of her bed. They sank down together onto her threadbare duvet, facing each other, their fingers laced together. She could feel her heart thrumming in her chest as she leaned into him, resting her forehead against his for a long moment as she gathered every last shred of her resolve. She hadn’t expected to feel like this when confronted with his near-nakedness; she’d expected shame and a heaping helping of guilt, but instead she felt reckless and bold and wanton, quite like she did whenever their roles were reversed and she laid herself bare before him.

She took a deep breath as she let go of his hands, lifting her arms to his neck and curling her fingers into his hair. He leaned forward, like he was going to kiss her, but she deflected his attention by smoothing her hands down over his chest, circling her fingers around his ribs and pressing the heels of her hands against his abdomen, relishing the resistance of his taut, firm muscle. She pulled away from him when she found the waistband of his boxers, running her fingers along the ribbed elastic.

She opened her eyes as she touched his leg, smoothing her hand up and down the length of the thigh closest to her, working to become comfortable with the decidedly sensual nature of the touch. She curled her fingers around his knee, slowly running her hand along the line of his inner thigh, and watched his expression change as she drew closer to his groin. She leaned forward as her hand ghosted over the front of his body and down the inside of the opposite thigh. He pivoted towards her, opening his legs further to her touch as her fingers inched back to his middle. She swallowed hard as she traced her thumb down the front fold of his underwear before opening her hand and cupping it around him. It was an unfamiliar sensation, seemingly weightless and yet heavy at the same time, and she wasn’t totally sure what to do, so she continued to inch her hand around him. 

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, tilting his hips up to accommodate her exploration. She stroked him again, frowning when he didn’t give her the same delicious reaction, and drew her palm forward, splaying her fingers open as she caressed his leg. He captured her hand in his own then, his fingers closing around hers and pressing her palm down, molding her grip around himself, grinding the heel of her hand into his groin as her fingers rubbed over his boxers. Her palm grew hot and sweaty and clammy from the friction, and at the same time, she could feel him tightening up, a distinctive bulge taking shape between her fingers.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, closing her hand around himself. She gave him a little squeeze, and he sucked in another hissed breath, his guiding hand falling away from hers. “Do that again,” he whispered, and she did, suddenly becoming aware of the way her heart was racing against her ribs. He’d hardened in her hand, his erection becoming heated and stiff and more obvious, and she felt a race of adrenaline and fear and curiosity wash through her as she continued to fondle him.

He groaned deep in his throat, squirming to reposition himself on her bed beside her, his legs splaying further apart to accommodate her probing. She was surprised at how warm – and hard – it felt in her hand, still bundled together though she could feel the distinct outline of the shaft. She continued to rub him as he’d shown her, enjoying the tactile sensation of the thin, soft cotton of his underwear and the warmth encased inside it.

Her hand brushed the slit of his boxers open, and she felt a jolt of heat and bare skin. He gasped, his eyes falling closed, but before she could comprehend what she’d done, she felt his hand on hers again, directing her inside and closing her fingers around the thick, hard shaft of his cock. It was so hot, and so hard – rock hard – and when she stroked him, her hand brought the length of him out into the open.

“Ohhhh, Tricia,” he moaned, his voice hoarse and tight as he guided her hand in another heated stroke, closing her palm over the tip of his cock before sending her fingers sliding back to the base. “Yes, baby, just like that.”

His groans of pleasure and words of high praise spurred her on, but she took her time in exploring the contours of this part of his body. She’d felt his arousal before, during some of their other intimate play, but it was always safely ensconced away, some hard but unknown yet electrifying hint of what could be. Every time he touched her with his hands or his fingers or his tongue, she wondered what it would be like to have this part of him between her thighs instead – but never moreso than now, she discovered, feeling a now-familiar heaviness beginning to pool in the cradle of her pelvis.

She readjusted herself on the bed, curling herself forward a bit more so that she could see just as much as she felt. She started to stroke him a bit faster, closing her fingers around his shaft, feeling every pulsation reverberating between her own legs. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, her breath becoming shorter and jagged in her chest as she worked. He was starting to pant, his voice deep in his throat, almost like a purr, and she could feel him growing slick against her palm – and the way her own slickness mirrored his. Her hand picked up speed as she felt the rest of his body tensing, his hands curled into fists around her blankets. She knew herself well enough to sense that he was nearing the brink of an orgasm, which both delighted and emboldened her.

“Wait – just a sec,” he whispered raggedly, reaching blindly for the box of tissues on her bedside table. He grabbed a fistful, slowing her roving hand only long enough to press the tissues into her palm, and she caught a glimpse of it, his cock thick and engorged and curling slightly up as if in greeting. She swallowed hard as she closed her hand awkwardly back around him; he took hold of her hand, guiding her final few strokes and then cupping her palm around the head of his erection as he came.

She gasped, shock coursing through her from the sheer heat of it, soaking through the tissue and pooling in her hand. His hold was firm on her wrist, and he pressed his forehead to hers, even as the rest of his body shuddered under the weight of his orgasm, his breath heavy and hard and jagged. She watched him with wide eyes as he fought to recover himself, the flush that rose from his neck to coat his cheeks, the beads of sweat at his brow, the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She was mesmerized by his passion in this moment of vulnerability, by the pleasure that radiated from his features, and could scarcely believe that she’d managed to send him tumbling off the cliff all (or mostly) by herself.

He opened his eyes, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he caught her awestruck gaze. “See what you do to me?” he murmured, taking his cock in hand. Her eyes darted down, and she watched in amazement as it, too, recovered from its aroused state. She leaned back, feeling the heat deep in her core radiate outwards in an intense, frustrated ache. She closed her hand over the sticky tissues she still held, the creamy, watery remnants oozing between her fingers, and wondered again what it would feel like to have him inside her, to have _this_ inside her, to be left a little piece of him. 

She felt the brush of clean tissues over her fisted hand, and she glanced over to see him patting her dry. His touch was tender and reverent, his expression flush with satisfaction and pleasure and something else that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. She released her fist and allowed him to finish what she’d started.

 _What I wouldn’t give…_. she thought to herself with a sigh. These moments made her feel warm and alive and _normal_ – and sad. Her life was starting to feel finite, the end inevitable, if not close. She loved him so much, and he made her so happy – 

“You are amazing, Trish,” Steven murmured, drawing her from her brooding reverie. He leaned into her, pressing her body flat against the mattress and covering it with his own. He curled one hand around her neck, his fingers splaying into her hair. “You make me _feel_ amazing, and so close to you.”

“That’s exactly the way you make me feel,” she replied, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drawing his body dangerously close to her own. “I love you, Steve,” she added swiftly. _And I’m not yet ready to let you go._


	4. Everlasting

Steven sent a sidelong glance towards his companion. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he asked, clutching Tricia’s hand. They were standing at the bottom of the hiking trail that wound around Secca Lake.

Tricia’s gaze was steady on him from beneath the wide brim of her straw hat. “I’m sure,” she replied, offering him a small smile as she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. _After all, this was my idea_ , she added silently.

A crisp fall breeze wafted past, lifting Steven’s hair from his brow as he contemplated her response. “Okay,” he hedged, “if you’re sure.” He sent another furtive look in her direction before turning towards the trail.

Tricia adjusted her oversized sunglasses as they set off. Their pace was slow but steady, and she took the opportunity to soak in their surroundings. Secca Lake was beautiful, the water crystal clear and sparkling like sapphires in the afternoon sun. Greenery still flourished alongside the rough-hewn trail; soft, puffy white clouds drifted along overhead, cloaking them from the relentless heat of the Indian summer.

They were alone as they hiked up the trail, no surprise given that it was the middle of the week, and that school had started back nearly a month ago. She tried not to think about that; it was a stark reminder of the way her life was beginning to end. Her treatments had forced her to quit school way back in the spring. If she had been healthy, and _normal_ , then she would’ve graduated from high school instead of dropping out, and she would be in college right now, maybe even at Sarah Lawrence, her mother’s alma mater…

She squeezed Steven’s hand again, worrying her lower lip as she gazed out over the lake. He was the only good thing left in her life now, and she was forever grateful that he was still by her side. So many of the people in her support group had lost their husbands and wives and families and friends over the course of their illness, partners and loved ones unable to handle the emotional stress of caring for a dying person. One by one, her fellow support group members had come to their meetings wearing sad, lonely, heartbroken expressions. Tricia herself was not immune; God only knew where her father and sister were these days. Her other friends had drifted away, but Steven was still there for her, the one constant pillar of strength upon which she could still lean.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, drawing to a halt beside her and wrapping his arm around hers, lacing their fingers together tightly.

She glanced at him, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the concern clouding his features. “I’m fine,” she assured him, shivering in spite of her long cotton sleeves and ankle-length gauze skirt.

He frowned. “You want me to carry the picnic basket?” he asked, reaching out with his free hand.

She clutched the handles of the wicker basket but held it at her side. Its contents contained a surprise for him, and she wanted to keep it that way. “No, that’s okay,” she replied, “I can handle it. Really.”

He hesitated, but eventually shrugged, not willing to press the issue. They set off again for their destination, following an inlet that fed into the lake from a point high in the hills. There, shrouded in the coolness of a secluded glen, was a little rock pool sustained by an eternal waterfall.

Tricia felt her heart growing lighter as they drew closer to their secret place. She sucked in a breath when they rounded the old sequoia tree and their waterfall came into view, spilling over the steep, rocky bank into a calm, clear pool below. The last time they were here, they’d camped right on the riverbank, dangling their feet into the water as they ate, before taking turns dipping under the surface of the pool and floating together beneath the waterfall. They’d discovered a little grotto behind the waterfall, and had spent quite a bit of time there, enjoying each other as the water spilled out overhead. Only the latent fall chill had brought them back to their picnic blanket, where their explorations continued in the stillness of the air beneath sun-dappled treetops.

The lush scent of pine permeated the air around them now, a familiar scent that immediately awakened all of Tricia’s senses. For a moment, she simply stood there, her eyes falling closed as she listened to the steady, rhythmic fall of the water, and the gentle breeze wafting through the trees.

“Mmm,” she mused, opening her eyes. She looked over at Steven. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Steven offered her a thin smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and draped his arm around her shoulders. “I’m glad,” he said quietly. “You want to sit?”

She noticed that he was pointedly avoiding their previous spot on the riverbank, having turned his back to the waterfall completely. She could feel the tension in his frame as he stood beside her, and instantly realized that he didn’t want to be there. Suddenly, it all made sense: the way his buoyant mood had sunk like a stone when she’d suggested coming here, his silence on the drive over, and his quietness during the hike. He’d been reluctant to return here, but he hadn’t complained or tried to dissuade her. 

She found this reaction curious, but didn’t really feel inclined to push. They were there, and that was all that mattered. They didn’t have to retread every little detail.

She gazed around their little glen, pointing to a nearby spot close to the tree line. “How about over there?” she suggested.

“All right,” he agreed, sweeping out his hand to capture the picnic basket and walking over to the area she’d indicated.

She hesitated before following him, her heart beginning to thrum heavily in her chest. _He knows_ , she realized as she watched him set down the picnic basket and open it, pulling out the red-and-black checkered blanket she’d packed and spreading it over the thick green grass. _He knows that something’s wrong with me, and that’s why he didn’t want to come back here._

Maybe he’d even guessed the truth. He wasn’t an idiot, after all.

Steven settled on one corner of the blanket as he continued to unpack the basket: paper plates and napkins; crystal wine glasses; two carefully wrapped plates bearing a selection of fruits and cheeses; a bottle of chilled, sparkling white wine. Tricia lowered herself beside him, discarding her sunglasses as she reached into the basket to pull out the last two items she’d stowed there – a small zip-top bag of medication and a bottle of water.

He surveyed their spread with a brooding expression, watching her wordlessly as she pulled the plastic wrap from the plates and opened the bottle of wine, filling both glasses and offering one to him. He took it, albeit reluctantly, and simply stared into the sparkling champagne-colored liquid, as if it held the answers to his unasked questions.

She dropped a plump, juicy strawberry into her glass, smiling as it turned her beverage a pretty shade of pink. She glanced at him, pursing her lips as she raised her glass. “To us,” she declared.

He looked up, his expression downright grim, but followed her lead, his glass meeting hers with a gentle _clink_. She brought hers to her lips, taking a long sip, enjoying the way the carbonation tickled her throat as she swallowed.

She noticed that he’d lowered his glass without tasting its contents, toying with the stem as he watched her fill a paper plate with strawberries and grapes and pieces of pineapple, along with chunks of white and yellow and veined cheese. She reached for her bag of pills, measuring out the rather large doses of medication that she had to take before she could eat. Even the tiniest portions of soft foods made her feel nauseated, and she had to take medicine just to keep the contents of her stomach down.

He’d witnessed this routine before – she’d already performed it twice that day, in fact – but she could feel the heaviness of his gaze on her, and it made her heart skip a beat. She took another sip of wine and reached for a piece of cheese to nibble on, but she’d only made it halfway to her mouth when he deigned to speak.

“Why are we really here?” he asked, the question coming out as more of a toneless statement.

She lowered the piece of cheese, lifting her eyes to meet his and measuring the trepidation she found lurking there. 

“I’m dying,” she finally said.

He swallowed hard, closing his hand into a fist around the stem of his glass. “But – the treatments – ?”

“Aren’t working anymore,” she broke in, shaking her head. She inched closer to him, her hand covering his where it rested on his knee. “It’s out of everyone’s control now.”

He clasped her fingers in his own, his grim expression breaking into horrified realization. “How much – longer do you have?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “Maybe six weeks?”

He echoed her response without speaking, his lips forming the words as his thoughts raced through the back of his mind. She could see the litany of emotions playing out across his features, horror and incredulity and fear and pain – and, finally, understanding blossoming into his expression. “So today, all of this…? Going to see the otters at the aquarium, lunch at La Paloma, the long walk on the beach, wanting to come _here_ …?”

She circled her arms around his shoulders and pressed her forehead against his temple. “I wanted to enjoy everything while I still can,” she admitted, “and that includes being with you.” 

She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Do you remember the last time we were here?”

“Yes,” he replied, swallowing hard. “Vividly.”

“And what we talked about?” 

The pain that touched his features sliced straight through her. “Yeah,” he murmured mournfully. “About how we were going to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“I still want that, Steve,” she breathed, her heart thundering against her ribs as she clutched her hands together behind his neck. “I still want _you_.”

He flushed furiously, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye, as if to keep himself from crying. “What do you mean?” he asked brokenly, his tears evident in his voice.

“I mean…” She hesitated but for a mere moment before drawing her body into his, lifting her chin and capturing his lips with her own. “I want you,” she whispered against his mouth as she climbed into his lap, her knees splaying out over his hips. “I want _this_.”

He groaned as he felt her body press flush to his, and she took advantage of it, sweeping her tongue over his lower lip before deepening their kiss. She could feel him beginning to tip back, and she cradled his head with one hand, the other drifting over the collar of his shirt, around the curve of his shoulder.

“Oh, _Tricia_ ,” he moaned, his hands finding her hips, his fingers digging into the gauzy fabric of her skirt. She could feel the coarse denim of his jeans rubbing against the cotton barrier of her underwear, and a sinful thrill shimmered down her spine. She could feel her body reacting to the intimate caress, heat flooding through the core of her being. Her heart began to beat a staccato rhythm against her ribs as she nuzzled his neck, nipping and licking and kissing her way down the column of his throat. She released the buttons of his shirt, one by one, sliding her hands beneath the open halves of his shirt, her fingertips following the lines of his chest, the solid packs of muscle that coiled over his ribs and down his sides of his torso.

He was flat on the ground now, only the checked blanket separating him from the grass, and she was lying on top of him, her tongue following the trails forged by her fingers over his smooth, taut, golden skin. She didn’t get very far before she felt him urging her up, his mouth finding hers in a fiercely passionate kiss. His hands cupped her backside, gathering fistfuls of her skirt as he pressed his hips into hers. She could feel the heat of his body seeping into her; a familiar heaviness began to pool in the cradle of her pelvis, a frustrated knot forming in the pit of her abdomen.

“Ohhhh,” she breathed, sweat beginning to bead on her forehead. She felt hot and deliciously constricted in her skin, and craved the pulsating ache that rippled through her with every thrust of his body into hers. She felt so _good_ and _warm_ and _vital_ and _alive_ that it was easy to forget how fragile and frail her body had become.

She moaned again, but this time he broke away in response, exhaling sharply, the sensation cool and jagged against her cheek. “Oh, God,” he mustered, his breath short and shallow in his lungs, “please, Trish, don’t let me hurt you.”

“You aren’t,” she whispered, curling her hands into his hair as she drew herself level with him.

His eyes searched hers for a long, still moment. “Promise?”

“Promise,” she replied, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

He furrowed his brow. “Promise me,” he pleaded, “promise me that you’ll tell me if you’re in pain.”

“I promise,” she assured him. “Now please,” she added, spreading the halves of his shirt open, “don’t stop.”

He captured her mouth in a searing kiss as his hands slid up the planes of her back, his fingers dragging the hem of her shirt up and exposing her bare skin. She felt the keen glare of the sun and arched her back in response, abruptly pinning him to the ground underneath her, knocking the breath from his lungs.

“Oh,” she hissed, sucking a pained breath between her teeth. “ _Don’t_!”

“Sorry,” he apologized hastily, dropping his hands, her shirt falling down to cover her back once more. “Sorry!”

“No,” she rushed to assure him, her heart skipping a beat as she touched his cheek, “it’s not your fault, its just – all that chemo left me super sensitive to the sun.” She shivered when she felt his hands fall away, landing with dull thuds on the blanket. “It’s why I have to cover every possible inch of my body.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t do this,” he replied quietly, averting his eyes. A deep flush burnished his cheeks, hot with desire and frustration.

“No,” she whispered, tracing the lines of his torso, “please don’t say that. There has to be a way…” She thought for a long moment before reaching up to release the buttons of her long-sleeved shirt, which she swept open and over her shoulders, revealing a plain, white camisole underneath.

“Cover me,” she entreated with a smile, wriggling her arms out of the sleeves of the shirt. He furrowed his brow as he watched her, but understood once she held the shirt open over her head, still shielding her body from the sunlight that filtered through the treetops above them. He grasped the open halves of the shirt, allowing her to quickly shed the camisole. She averted her eyes as she slipped her arms back through the long sleeves of her shirt, drawing her arms around herself. She couldn’t help but feel ashamed of her thin, frail frame; she’d lost so much weight that she didn’t even need to wear a bra anymore.

He tugged at her arm as she made to cover herself, and she saw that his eyes had widened and his jaw had slackened as he took in the sight of her small but pert breasts. He touched her, guiding his thumb along the outline of one breast, his exploration gentle, yet confident. He was looking at her with such awe and yearning that she couldn’t help but smile and relax into the caress.

Suddenly, he surged forward, upright, bracing his arms around her back as his mouth closed over her breast. She exhaled sharply as his tongue swirled around her nipple, working it into a hard, pebbled peak. His hand soon joined his mouth, tracing the softness of her skin as he licked and nipped and suckled.

She clutched at him as he turned his attention to her other breast, his fingers still exploring the first, cupping the fullness of it before palming it, caressing it. Every new touch was linked to sensations that rocketed straight through her, and it was almost too much – the warm and wetness of his mouth, the wicked expertise of his tongue, contrasted with the soft yet solid press of his hand, and the delightfully rough texture of his jeans as she ground her hips into his – it all conspired to make her roil with excitement and anticipation.

She fisted her hands in his hair and yanked his head back, leaning down into him as her lips found his in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. She plundered the depths of his mouth, reveling in the way their tongues met and brushed and stroked and laved together. She loved the taste of him, and the essence of her skin, and the way their bodies crushed together, his hands still kneading her breasts beneath her half-open top.

She raked her hands through his thick, luxurious hair and then pushed his shirt over his shoulders, capping her hands on the curves of his upper arms. She let his mouth slide away from hers as she turned her attention to divesting him of his clothing. He acquiesced to her ministrations, letting her go only long enough to allow his shirt to fall away, revealing the hard, lean planes of his chest and back and torso.

He fell back, bringing her down with him as they continued to kiss. He wrapped his arms around her, one hand drifting up the cradle the back of her head while the other slipped down over her backside and between her legs, the tips of his fingers brushing against the edge of her panties through her skirt. She opened her hips, feeling herself growing slick as she rubbed against him; one of her hands stole down between them, and he growled against her mouth when she cupped her hand around his hardening erection.

“Let me feel you,” he pleaded, his voice full of gravel, the hand behind her head curling over her neck. He tugged at the fabric of her skirt with his other hand, his fingers getting lost in the gauzy fabric. Mindful of exposing her legs to the sunlight, she arched her hips up and away from his, granting him the access he craved as his hand moved between their bodies. He arched himself upright he stroked her, pressing first his thumb, then the heel of his hand, against her throbbing clit.

She whimpered against his mouth as he fondled her through her ever-dampening underwear, his fingers roving expertly over familiar territory. After ages of sweet torture, he pushed aside her underwear, his fingertips finding her bare skin, and she reacted forcefully his touch, moaning softly as she clung to him, a slave to the sensations rocking through her.

“Oh!” she gasped when he slipped his longest finger inside her. She could feel his breath, heavy and hard against her mouth, but sensed that he didn’t understand her response to this new, deliciously erotic torment, for he slipped another finger in and began to plunge them inside her in a shallow yet satisfying rhythm. 

It all felt so _good_ , especially when he started rubbing his thumb over her clit, but it was not what she wanted or expected or _needed_ in that very moment. Ever since that night in her bedroom, when he’d let her explore his body and bring him to orgasm, she’d wanted _that_ – the experience of having him inside her, of feeling the long, hard length of his erection moving in tandem with her own pulsating body, of their mutual heat and slickness meeting and crashing and exploding together.

“Please,” she moaned, pressing her forehead to his as she dug her nails into his skin, “I want you inside me before I – I – ”

“I know,” he murmured, his fingers still moving inside her, “but I think – you have to be close – _closer_ – ” – he sucked his breath through his teeth – “ – so your body – will – accept me – ”

She shuddered, feeling the familiar, needy ache wash through her, and she knew that she was edging closer to the edge of her personal cliff. “Now,” she breathed, wriggling away from him, reaching blindly for the opening of his pants. 

He batted her hands away, working the button and fly open before breaking away from her, pushing his clothes unceremoniously over his hips and down the length of his legs. She took the opportunity to shed her own underwear, leaving nothing but the gauzy fabric of her skirt between her nakedness and his. He lowered himself back down to the blanket, and she followed his lead, carefully positioning her knees over his hips and leaning back on her haunches.

He lay beneath her, gazing up at her with concern and desire and the slightest hint of fear. “You’re sure?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, closing her hand around his rock hard erection and giving him an experimental squeeze. He groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head as he instinctively thrust into her hand, and she had to admit that she’d never found him more alluring than she did in that moment.

She stroked him, her fingers curling around him, moving up and down the length of his cock as she worked to steady her own nerves. She wanted this more than anything, had been wishing and planning and dreaming of it for weeks, but couldn’t quite rid herself of her trepidation. She closed her eyes, and willed herself to relax, and gently began to guide him into her body.

It took a few awkward, tense tries, but finally, they managed to connect, and she inched her way down the length of him, moving as slowly – yet as quickly – as she dared. It was certainly a different sensation than the feeling of his fingers or even his tongue. Even though it was pleasurable, it was also painful, and she couldn’t hide her distress as she slowly sheathed him.

Steven clutched at her upper arms, unable to control his own reaction to being inside her for the very first time. She was so wonderfully, gloriously tight and wet that every inch was new and wonderful and sweetly decadent. He didn’t notice her anguish until it was too late, until she had sheathed him to the hilt and he was ready to explode.

She was still as she crouched over him, her body seemingly frozen around his, and he realized that something was amiss. His lustful haze cleared enough to see that she was in pain, and he managed to fold his arms around her, bringing her close. “It’s okay,” he murmured, running his hands over the smooth planes of her back. “Just breathe, baby.”

She nodded, her hair slick against his chest, and she took a deep breath, in through her nose and out through her mouth. He felt her start to relax, incrementally, and her body began to open up around him, which felt even more amazing. He kissed her neck and her cheek and then his mouth found hers in a kiss of comfort and reassurance.

Before either of them realized it, their bodies were moving, tentatively at first before finding a more confident rhythm. Tricia broke from their huddled embrace, finding more leverage with her hands flat against the blanket-covered ground. He was hot and heavy and full inside her, the pleasure she’d known before only intensified as their bodies moved together. 

He didn’t last long beyond their matched rhythm; his orgasm felt like an internal explosion of heat and light and wonderful, slick smoothness, and the extra lubrication made it easier for her to move. She began to move faster and faster, her hips slamming down into his, until she flung herself over the edge of her cliff, bright white stars shattering behind her eyelids as she rode the wave of exquisite ecstasy.

Eventually, she collapsed into his arms, and they lay together in silence for a long time, listening to the breeze rustling through the trees, and the trickle of the waterfall just beyond their reach. Their kisses were long and languid and, somehow, deeper and more meaningful than ever.

“I love you,” she said softly, combing her fingers through his hair.

His eyes were hooded, his satisfaction writ large across his features. “Not as much as I love you,” he returned with a crooked smile.

“You think so?” she mused, rolling her hips into his and earning and soft growl in response. He might’ve been spent, but she’d never felt more alive, not even before she’d become sick.

Her expression sobered, her eyes falling closed. 

She didn’t have much time left. 

She might never get to experience this again.

“Hey, now,” he murmured, cupping her face with one hand, his fingers sliding into her hair, “why the long face, all of a sudden?”

She pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling.

“It wasn’t _that_ bad, was it?” he joked, running his thumb over the crest of her cheek. “And, I mean, even if it _was_ , it’s not like we’ll never have another chance to practice and get better, right?”

Her lower lip wobbled, and tears spiked behind her eyes.

“Tricia,” he said softly, the teasing tone falling away from his voice, “please, look at me.”

She obliged him, opening her eyes, and her breath caught in the back of her throat as she gazed at him. His expression was full of love and adoration and hope and reassurance. “This isn’t the end,” he vowed. “This is _not_ the last time we’ll ever make love.”

“How can you be so sure?” she wondered, pressing her tears back, firmly behind her eyes. She desperately wanted to believe him, but just didn’t see how it was possible. 

His smile was slow and sinful. “Because the day isn’t over yet.” 

He lifted himself up, gently disengaging his body from hers, and cradled her in his arms, pressing fiery, fleeting kisses to her face, her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. Slowly, he eased her down onto her back, nipping and nuzzling and laving his tongue down the length of her torso. She moaned, almost in spite of herself, and opened her legs to his touch, relishing the way he smoothed the backs of his hands over her inner thighs, beneath her skirt, and toyed with her mounds of curls. She felt sticky and sore, but burned for his touch nonetheless, wondering for a moment if she’d managed to lose her mind along with her virginity.

He slipped a finger inside her, and almost immediately withdrew it – and then he cursed.

Tricia opened her eyes, rolling onto one side so that she could look at him. “What?” she burbled, suddenly afraid of what he’d found.

He started to tremble, staring at his hands in disbelief. “Oh, God, you’re bleeding,” he breathed incredulously, his features twisting with shock and pain. “Why didn’t you _tell me_ that I was hurting you?! You promised you would! _You promised_!!”

She managed to pick herself up, her body still pulsating with the need he’d stirred up inside her even as she wrapped her arms around him and brought his head to her shoulder. “No, no, no,” she said soothingly, “Steve, I swear, you didn’t hurt me. This is normal.”

She could feel the trickle of tears on her shoulder, and tightened her hold on him.

“You’re sure?” he finally managed, reining in his panic. “I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt you, you know.”

“I know,” she assured him, “but you didn’t.” She smiled as she released him, and nodded to the stack of napkins near the picnic basket. “Let me clean up.”

She reached for a napkin, but he beat her to it, plucking up the entire stack. “No,” he murmured, brushing her hands away, “let me.”

He maneuvered cautiously around her skirt as he dabbed at her with a napkin, careful to keep from exposing her skin to the sunlight. He was so attentive that she felt herself unwinding beneath his gentle touch, her eyes falling closed as she eased back down to the ground, her muscles going slack as he wiped away the sweat and stickiness of their lovemaking.

She breathed in deeply, slowly releasing her breath as she felt his thumb on her clit, rubbing smooth, gentle circles over the swollen little nub. She could feel his fingers slipping inside her; she could feel herself growing warm and slick again, a small but heavy ache building in the cradle of her pelvis.

He nudged her legs open even further, and she mewled when she felt the tickle of his breath, and then his tongue, alongside his fingers. The achy need in her core grew tighter and hotter; she could feel her pulse racing when he lifted her hips slightly and plunged his tongue inside her in a deep and satisfying rhythm.

She didn’t prolong her frustration – she couldn’t, so peaceful and relaxed was she that she simply yielded to the release. She didn’t think that this day – this moment – this _feeling_ – could get any better, but somehow it had, and here she was, smiling as she came for the second time in as many hours, exhausted yet sated, sanguine and serene.

She had long ago made her peace with death, but for the first time since her diagnosis, she felt hopeful. She had six long, glorious weeks to devote to the love of her life, this man who was so thoughtful and attentive and caring and loving, who completed her, who imbued her with warmth and vitality and the very essence of _life_. 

Six beautiful weeks – to have and to hold him, to love and to cherish him…

… _until death do we part_.


End file.
